These are the things I failed to plan for in my day:
1) that Bam would be categorically unable to go to school without a red shirt and blue shorts, that this inability would extend to eating breakfast and any and all other portions of the morning routine. I dredged up a last minute somewhat mangy red shirt and strong armed the poor child (breakfast-less, since he didn't tell me he'd been unable to eat until we were halfway to school) to school, peeled him off my leg and into the arms of the kindergarten teacher and prayed that he would recover his mojo (he did, apparently quickly and the rest of the day was uneventful in his eyes) I went to Target and bought their last two red shirts. I still need to find some more blue shorts.
2) that certain children overstating their family job completion and understating their homework load would gain friend time passes and then fail to return in a timely fashion, that this failure combined with my failure to fully assemble dinner in a timely fashion before football practice would set our family organization clock on its head and that things would never fully recover.
3) that certain other children would have sufficiently faulty honesty and responsibility meters fueling the caterwompus of disorganization.
4) that the child with dish duty would require "proof" that it was his job before beginning (never could nail down what would constitute sufficient proof in his eyes--notarization? affidavit? sworn testimony under oath before a judge?).
5) that this same child would, in a manner still mysteriously inexplicable to us all, would head down the stairs, lean suddenly and end up end for end on the bottom level of the stairs with his glasses thrown from his face. He was not permanently damaged (no, we don't have our third cast of the summer, thank heaven) but was never able to explain what happened, nor has he been able to explain a few other things.
I have never attempted to deceive anyone into believing that we have any sort of well-oiled machine of organization and precision running in our family scheduling. We pretty much run on a mix of calendaring and seat-of-your-pants engineering. But I do try to plan and be timely, feed people, keep them alive and fulfilling their school and family obligations. I am trying to come to grips with the reality that my life seems destined to involve the creation of a certain amount of unintended rules each day (including, but not limited to,"do not fling yourself from the stairs to your near death to avoid doing dinner dishes"). My abilty to grasp this comes and goes. But when DH asked me upon his evening arrival home what went wrong with the day, I couldn't exactly say and I got grumpy as a result. Ultimately what it seems to boil down to is that I failed to plan for the unfathomable. I hate it when I do that.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
First Day of School
I did everything I could to prepare for this day. Clothes and shoes were laid out. Lunches were prepared. Supplies were purchased, divided and loaded into backpacks (and even turned into teachers ahead of time where possible). And still, Sunday night found me hunting AWOL water bottle tops after the children had gone to sleep. How can water bottle tops disappear over the course of a summer? Oh the black hole that is my house.
Because this weekend was stake conference, we got extra time with Dad--a grand and unusual blessing indeed. We had grilled burgers and corn on the cob and each child received priesthood blessings from their dad to begin the school year. We resuscitated our daily scripture reading with dad (the summer had become catch as catch can since dad's schedule didn't intersect with the family's loosey goosey one). We ate frozen custard and once and future students were trundled off to bed at a responsible time (and there wasn't much complaining since we had to be up early for the stake conference--another blessing!)
The next morning,
everyone dressed for school and we began the return to routine. CE had her one late morning--middle school will now begin after elementary school by 55 minutes, but she has an early leadership class that begins on the second day of school, so today was the only day the lateness really affected her. M, the boys and I walked to school. CW could not be bothered to stay with the group. You'd think he liked school or something . . . Z dutifully stayed with the rest of us, since he will have the responsible job of dropping and retrieving Bam from his kindergarten dot each day. Bam chatted amiably with a friend and neighbor about backpacks and quarters for chocolate milk. Once we arrived at school and I deposited his brothers, Bam began to get nervous. The luck of the draw has Bam in a class with NO ONE he knew previously. This boy here with Bam:
--never met him.
These children lined up with Bam to go inside:
--never seen any of them before.
But, true to the resilience that is Bam, despite the fact that he still knows no one's name, he said he had a good day at school with many new and exciting things to tell me about lunch, PE and homework that he didn't have today.
School was relatively old hat for everyone else. CW came home and immediately did all his homework for the week. Yes, he scares me sometimes. Z did the bare minimum and CE set about doing homework and organizing her supplies for the rarified world that is middle school. M and I are in new territory. It is just us all day until her preschool begins next week, but even then, with preschool only two mornings a week, we are alone together most of the time. I don't think she knows quite what to do with the mommy time. She told a friend of mine today that we were going swimming and then groceries. So, we went swimming and got groceries, made after school cookies and then it was time to retrieve boys (the first day of school is the only day I go get them, otherwise they're self-sufficient). I wonder what she has planned for us tomorrow!
I like school. I love that my kidlets adore learning and school and the structure that school brings. I have never yet been that parent who cried when the kindergarten teacher read The Kissing Hand. For me, I found it strangely liberating that this time at the kindergarten drop off, I only had one child to take home with me--usually it's two, or one with an enormously pregnant belly. One 3 year old to sit quietly through a story with is cake. I went to the Boo Hoo Breakfast because Bam told me to and because I knew M would love the teeny tiny pastries Panera Bread donated for the occasion (really, who doesn't love mini chocolate croissants and orange frosted pastries and tiny fruit tarts?)
Now I don't love homework (and some years are worse than others for wrestling with the dreaded H word) but I love seeing my children discover new bits of knowledge, wrestle with grammar and penmanship, master long division and quadratic formulas and inhale literature and artistic endeavors. I also love the forced structure that school brings: we have to have the backpack packing, lunch making, homework doing, outfit planning down to somewhat of a science or our world with 5 students would become chaotic and unsuccessful.
Despite all my mother's best intentions, I do not take easily to structure. Too little and I am lost, like anyone, but too much scheduling, too much structure and I begin to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. Intrinsic structure isn't something I manage well; it has to be extrinsic. School seems to provide the perfect ebb and flow of structure. Hopefully it will be a welcome nudge in our search for order this year.
Because this weekend was stake conference, we got extra time with Dad--a grand and unusual blessing indeed. We had grilled burgers and corn on the cob and each child received priesthood blessings from their dad to begin the school year. We resuscitated our daily scripture reading with dad (the summer had become catch as catch can since dad's schedule didn't intersect with the family's loosey goosey one). We ate frozen custard and once and future students were trundled off to bed at a responsible time (and there wasn't much complaining since we had to be up early for the stake conference--another blessing!)
The next morning,
everyone dressed for school and we began the return to routine. CE had her one late morning--middle school will now begin after elementary school by 55 minutes, but she has an early leadership class that begins on the second day of school, so today was the only day the lateness really affected her. M, the boys and I walked to school. CW could not be bothered to stay with the group. You'd think he liked school or something . . . Z dutifully stayed with the rest of us, since he will have the responsible job of dropping and retrieving Bam from his kindergarten dot each day. Bam chatted amiably with a friend and neighbor about backpacks and quarters for chocolate milk. Once we arrived at school and I deposited his brothers, Bam began to get nervous. The luck of the draw has Bam in a class with NO ONE he knew previously. This boy here with Bam:
--never met him.
These children lined up with Bam to go inside:
--never seen any of them before.
But, true to the resilience that is Bam, despite the fact that he still knows no one's name, he said he had a good day at school with many new and exciting things to tell me about lunch, PE and homework that he didn't have today.
School was relatively old hat for everyone else. CW came home and immediately did all his homework for the week. Yes, he scares me sometimes. Z did the bare minimum and CE set about doing homework and organizing her supplies for the rarified world that is middle school. M and I are in new territory. It is just us all day until her preschool begins next week, but even then, with preschool only two mornings a week, we are alone together most of the time. I don't think she knows quite what to do with the mommy time. She told a friend of mine today that we were going swimming and then groceries. So, we went swimming and got groceries, made after school cookies and then it was time to retrieve boys (the first day of school is the only day I go get them, otherwise they're self-sufficient). I wonder what she has planned for us tomorrow!
I like school. I love that my kidlets adore learning and school and the structure that school brings. I have never yet been that parent who cried when the kindergarten teacher read The Kissing Hand. For me, I found it strangely liberating that this time at the kindergarten drop off, I only had one child to take home with me--usually it's two, or one with an enormously pregnant belly. One 3 year old to sit quietly through a story with is cake. I went to the Boo Hoo Breakfast because Bam told me to and because I knew M would love the teeny tiny pastries Panera Bread donated for the occasion (really, who doesn't love mini chocolate croissants and orange frosted pastries and tiny fruit tarts?)
Now I don't love homework (and some years are worse than others for wrestling with the dreaded H word) but I love seeing my children discover new bits of knowledge, wrestle with grammar and penmanship, master long division and quadratic formulas and inhale literature and artistic endeavors. I also love the forced structure that school brings: we have to have the backpack packing, lunch making, homework doing, outfit planning down to somewhat of a science or our world with 5 students would become chaotic and unsuccessful.
Despite all my mother's best intentions, I do not take easily to structure. Too little and I am lost, like anyone, but too much scheduling, too much structure and I begin to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. Intrinsic structure isn't something I manage well; it has to be extrinsic. School seems to provide the perfect ebb and flow of structure. Hopefully it will be a welcome nudge in our search for order this year.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
The Summer Wanes
I put all the orientations, open houses and back-to-school events in my calendar today. This comes after completing the school supplies and clothing purchases at the beginning of the week. School will officially begin on the 29th, but on Friday we begin the run-up of activities that will get us there in a hurry. So, I thought it as good a time as any to evaluate the summer, such as it was.
June was a birthday, a baptism, the end of school activities and a little vacation for DH and I. Throughout these activities we did a pretty good job of keeping family work, routines, piano practice and such going.
July was filled with girls' camp, scout camp, and high adventure camp--nearly all of which DH had to attend, at least in part. CE attended girls' camp for the first time too. The rest of us had swim lessons, a short trip to Utah and general laziness. Levels were mastered on the Wii. Books were read. Things were drawn and colored. Games were played. Movies and vintage TV were watched courtesy of Netflix. And there was swimming, a great lot of swimming. We completely lost the plot where piano was concerned and family work and routines took a bad beating.
And now here we are mid-way through August, trying to pick up the pieces left after do-nothing July, returning to routines, better executed family work and piano, all in an attempt to ease ourselves into the scheduling wallop that is the school year (since football, soccer, dance, leadership and piano all begin at the same time). We didn't do any of the things on our to-do list; we didn't visit any of the places on our to-see list (not even the library, unless you count quick dashes to pick up reserved books). We reveled in doing nothing and going nowhere. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
In some ways, it was a rare treat and one which won't likely come our way again. There are drawbacks of course, because my children didn't go anywhere, they never left me alone. I quickly learned that one of the reasons why I hardly looked at the piano was because I never had any quiet moments in which I could play without "help" of one kind or another. My children are finally old enough that the oldest two are available for sibling care (CE even sits for others now, Z can trustworthily watch younger siblings for an hour or two before forgetting he's in charge), but they are young enough that they don't schedule themselves in social activities hither and yon yet.
I guess that fleeting sense is why I don't feel more remiss that our summer was an unscheduled monument to stasis, because stasis is really hard to come by, especially in families, especially when those families have growing children. I'm not dreading the beginning of school, nor am I counting days. It's been a good do-nothing summer and has lasted about as long as it ought. We have enjoyed it.
Hail Summer! Long Live Fall!
June was a birthday, a baptism, the end of school activities and a little vacation for DH and I. Throughout these activities we did a pretty good job of keeping family work, routines, piano practice and such going.
July was filled with girls' camp, scout camp, and high adventure camp--nearly all of which DH had to attend, at least in part. CE attended girls' camp for the first time too. The rest of us had swim lessons, a short trip to Utah and general laziness. Levels were mastered on the Wii. Books were read. Things were drawn and colored. Games were played. Movies and vintage TV were watched courtesy of Netflix. And there was swimming, a great lot of swimming. We completely lost the plot where piano was concerned and family work and routines took a bad beating.
And now here we are mid-way through August, trying to pick up the pieces left after do-nothing July, returning to routines, better executed family work and piano, all in an attempt to ease ourselves into the scheduling wallop that is the school year (since football, soccer, dance, leadership and piano all begin at the same time). We didn't do any of the things on our to-do list; we didn't visit any of the places on our to-see list (not even the library, unless you count quick dashes to pick up reserved books). We reveled in doing nothing and going nowhere. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
In some ways, it was a rare treat and one which won't likely come our way again. There are drawbacks of course, because my children didn't go anywhere, they never left me alone. I quickly learned that one of the reasons why I hardly looked at the piano was because I never had any quiet moments in which I could play without "help" of one kind or another. My children are finally old enough that the oldest two are available for sibling care (CE even sits for others now, Z can trustworthily watch younger siblings for an hour or two before forgetting he's in charge), but they are young enough that they don't schedule themselves in social activities hither and yon yet.
I guess that fleeting sense is why I don't feel more remiss that our summer was an unscheduled monument to stasis, because stasis is really hard to come by, especially in families, especially when those families have growing children. I'm not dreading the beginning of school, nor am I counting days. It's been a good do-nothing summer and has lasted about as long as it ought. We have enjoyed it.
Hail Summer! Long Live Fall!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Captain Moroni was a "good mom!"
While reading this this morning, one thought seemed more clear to me than any other: Captain Moroni was a good mom! He too had to deal with the drawbacks (saying threats when referring to a scriptural hero somehow seems wrong) of outlining consequences that he then had to back up. I make no pretense of suggesting that life as a mother to my five hooligans (bedlamites, children: potato, potahto) is the same as leading the Nephites against the never ending evil threat of the liberty stealing Lamanites, but somehow it just warmed my heart to see in print, in scripture no less, the concept that threats must not be empty, that consequences must be fulfilled that if I promise no screens for a week for an egregious infraction of family rules, I have to survive that whole week, even though I am punishing myself along with the fractious children.
I am always amazed as I plow through the war chapters that comprise much of Alma how much they apply to my life as a mother of little ones in the desert. Captain Moroni has been making a lot of fortifications lately in my reading: digging up a lot of earth, building what must have been menacing and backbreaking protections for his people. I see in those descriptions my need to protect my little ones with similar backbreaking protections--scripture reading, church attendance, FHE, good nutrition, good sleep and study habits, piano practice, healthy work ethic, respect for self and others (and on, and on). It never ends, but it never ended for Captain Moroni either. Our pediatrician always goes through a selection of questions about safety during well child checks--does our pool have a gate, does the child in question understand about stranger danger, does s/he know not to approach strange dogs, what food is healthy, wear a helmet. Those questions are easy. The more difficult questions are, does my child know how to access the powers of Heaven? Do they all know how to listen to the Holy Ghost to make important decisions? Can they say, with Nephi "I know in whom I have trusted"? Pediatrician doesn't know to answer those questions (but he did mention the missionaries he saw on his recent trip to the Ukraine!) Those are my safety questions.
Later in the same chapter in Alma, Captain Moroni doesn't kill the drunken guards, because he doesn't delight in bloodshed, he just wanted liberty for his people. I have in a pencilled note at the bottom of the page--linking verse 19 with verse 28 where it talks about the Nephites being able to begin to reclaim their rights and privileges. My note says that perhaps because Moroni was seeking a great blessing--the liberty of his people--he wanted clean hands to be worthy. I am seeking great blessings--the eternal safety of my children--are my hands sufficiently clean? I worry about this, about genuinely doing all that is needful, about choosing the better part, what is essential, so that I can worthily call for the blessings of Heaven to be showered upon my family.
And I marvel at the continual, unplumbable depths of war chapters in the Book of Alma.
I am always amazed as I plow through the war chapters that comprise much of Alma how much they apply to my life as a mother of little ones in the desert. Captain Moroni has been making a lot of fortifications lately in my reading: digging up a lot of earth, building what must have been menacing and backbreaking protections for his people. I see in those descriptions my need to protect my little ones with similar backbreaking protections--scripture reading, church attendance, FHE, good nutrition, good sleep and study habits, piano practice, healthy work ethic, respect for self and others (and on, and on). It never ends, but it never ended for Captain Moroni either. Our pediatrician always goes through a selection of questions about safety during well child checks--does our pool have a gate, does the child in question understand about stranger danger, does s/he know not to approach strange dogs, what food is healthy, wear a helmet. Those questions are easy. The more difficult questions are, does my child know how to access the powers of Heaven? Do they all know how to listen to the Holy Ghost to make important decisions? Can they say, with Nephi "I know in whom I have trusted"? Pediatrician doesn't know to answer those questions (but he did mention the missionaries he saw on his recent trip to the Ukraine!) Those are my safety questions.
Later in the same chapter in Alma, Captain Moroni doesn't kill the drunken guards, because he doesn't delight in bloodshed, he just wanted liberty for his people. I have in a pencilled note at the bottom of the page--linking verse 19 with verse 28 where it talks about the Nephites being able to begin to reclaim their rights and privileges. My note says that perhaps because Moroni was seeking a great blessing--the liberty of his people--he wanted clean hands to be worthy. I am seeking great blessings--the eternal safety of my children--are my hands sufficiently clean? I worry about this, about genuinely doing all that is needful, about choosing the better part, what is essential, so that I can worthily call for the blessings of Heaven to be showered upon my family.
And I marvel at the continual, unplumbable depths of war chapters in the Book of Alma.
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